


Ashes In His Mouth, Stars In His Eyes

by jeusus, Marzarelo



Category: Black Mirror, Paterson (2016), Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Ashterson, Kylux Adjacent Ship, M/M, Prostitute Ash, Reincarnation, Robot/Human Relationships, soul mates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-08
Updated: 2018-10-08
Packaged: 2019-07-28 09:18:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16238669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jeusus/pseuds/jeusus, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marzarelo/pseuds/Marzarelo
Summary: There aren't many passengers on the bus late at night.  One night there is one passenger left as Paterson approaches the last stop, and there's something strangely captivating about him.  What's especially strange is that the charming redhead seems equally fascinated with him in return.





	Ashes In His Mouth, Stars In His Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> This is a collaboration with [Jeusus](http://jeusus.tumblr.com) for Inktober/Kinktober! We took the themes from Day 8 of Inktober (Star) and Kinktober (Prostitution) and combined them. This was the story that came out.
> 
> [Art by Jeusus](http://jeusus.tumblr.com/post/178869432493/you-look-at-the-stars-a-lot-dont-you-i) on Tumblr!

Paterson was not a night person. Not that he was incapable of staying up late when necessary, but if he had his way he really preferred to be home in his comfortable little apartment by the time the sun set and then in bed at a reasonable hour. That used to be part of his daily routine. He got up early, had a quick breakfast, got to work and drove his route on the morning/afternoon bus schedule, and then he was home and eating dinner by 6:00. Sometimes he took a short walk to a nearby bar for a beer and casual conversation, but he was always home by 9:00 and in bed by 10:00. Things changed, though. One of the other drivers asked for his schedule to be switched so he could spend more time with his kids. Paterson didn’t have any kids, or a spouse, or pets, or any other reason not to switch schedules aside from his personal preference. He didn’t want to be selfish, so he agreed. Now he drove a new route on the afternoon/evening schedule. He ate dinner during his break time, then went straight to bed when he got home and watched the stars through the window until he fell asleep. He still got up early, and he had plenty of time to run errands, relax, and do a bit of writing before work, but it was an adjustment.

The thing he missed the most was conversation. The bar wasn’t open during the day, but even if it was he couldn’t exactly have a beer before work, so he couldn’t go there anymore on work days. He thought about finding a cafe or a diner to go to for breakfast and a little bit of socialization, but he would have to start all over again to get acquainted with the staff and regular customers of a new establishment. Most people who were out in the morning were in too much of a hurry to linger over coffee and have a conversation, anyway.

The atmosphere on the bus was different, too. People in the evening crowd were quieter than the morning crowd, usually tired and on their way home. Passengers were focused on their phones, reading or playing games or listening to music, and as the evening wore on there were fewer and fewer of them. Sometimes he would drive through the last hour of his shift with only one or two passengers, or some days none at all. It was lonesome, far too quiet, and made him wish he’d never agreed to switch shifts.

His eyes started to feel tired and gritty toward the end of his shift and he blinked slowly when he stopped at a red light to give them a moment’s rest. He squinted them gradually open again, making the street lights distort into streaks of light like shooting stars flying past his windshield, but once they were fully open again the effect was gone. The light turned green, and he drove on. There was one more stop on his route, and he still had one passenger left so he couldn’t skip it.

He glanced up to look at the passenger in his mirror just as he drove past an electric sign lit with bright LED bulbs that caught the passenger’s ginger hair in a way that felt familiar, _like he recognized that hair, he knew this man,_ but when he looked again he was puzzled. He was certain he’d never seen this man before in his life. The man took his phone out of his pocket and scrolled with his thumb for a moment before his face twitched ever so briefly into an expression of disdain that nearly made Paterson gasp, though he couldn’t begin to imagine why. Maybe he didn’t know this man, but some deep, subconscious part of him seemed to know that expression. Maybe he knew someone this man was related to? But that didn’t seem right, either. If _anyone_ had ever looked at him like that before he would definitely remember, and it wouldn’t be a pleasant memory. It wouldn’t set a confusing flutter in his chest that vanished before he could make any sense of it.

It was a good thing there was no traffic this late at night, because he couldn’t seem to stop looking at his passenger in the mirror as often as he could take his eyes off the road. He was pale and slender, long legs sticking out into the empty aisle in front of him, dressed in clothes a little bit too thin and revealing to be comfortable in the night’s chill, with his eyes lined in smoky makeup. He looked just a bit too old to to be an edgy teen, but adults didn’t usually go out to parties or clubs and come home this late in the middle of the week. That left one likely possibility and, well, Paterson didn’t want to _assume_ anything. He didn’t know the man, after all. Maybe he just had an interesting sense of style.

The last stop was coming up in only a few blocks, right at the edge of downtown, then this stranger would be gone and he might never see him again. He hoped that wouldn’t be the case. For some inexplicable reason he didn’t like the idea of seeing this man leave and he dearly hoped he would see him again. “Do you live downtown?” His own voice startled him. He didn’t usually initiate conversations with passengers, and asking where someone lived was an incredibly personal question. He was about to apologize when the passenger surprised him by answering.

“No, just south on Green Street. Bit of a walk, but not far,” the man said distractedly, typing something into his phone before tucking it back into his pocket. “Why, planning to stalk me and murder me?”

“What? No, just-- It’s late, you know? I want to make sure my passengers get home safely,” he replied awkwardly.

“Ah. Don’t like the idea of a helpless little thing like me walking alone late at night?”

“No, actually,” he said, and surprised himself with the ernest truth of the statement. It wasn’t the safest neighborhood, and _things happen_ sometimes. He hated the thought of being the last person to see this man alive because he hadn't survived his walk home.

He heard a scoff from the man behind him and glanced in the mirror again to see him smirking and shaking his head. “That’s sweet, but I promise I can handle myself.” The stop was just up ahead and the passenger stood to get off the bus, but Paterson drove past it and turned south. “Hey, what are you doing? That was my stop!”

“I know, but Green Street’s not that far.” There was a disbelieving huff from behind him as the passenger dropped back into his seat, and when he looked back at him again his brows were drawn together in confusion. Once he turned onto Green Street, he stopped in front of an apartment building there. The passenger stood again and walked to the front of the bus, looking pleasantly bemused.

“Right to my door. Such service.” He looked down at Paterson with a flirtatious smirk. “Hoping to earn a favor in return?” He flipped a stray lock of hair that was hanging down over Paterson’s forehead with the tip of his finger. Then another quick expression passed across his face, something distant and unreadable, and he brushed the tip of that same finger in an irregular line from Paterson’s brow, grazing the lashes of his right eye, then down his cheek and off the edge of his jaw. It was such an unexpected and strangely deliberate touch that Paterson didn’t know how to respond, but apparently his mouth was agape because the next moment he felt his teeth click together as the other man closed his mouth for him with a finger under his chin. The flirtatious grin was back. “Maybe next time-” the man’s eyes darted to his nametag, “Paterson.”

Paterson watched in stunned silence as the other man sauntered off the bus and into the apartment building.

God, he hoped there would be a next time.  
*

*  
The bus ride across town was a long one, but Ash didn’t mind it so much. It gave him a little time to relax and be out among people who were just living their lives, which was nice. He liked to imagine he was absorbing their ambient energy. Maybe it was part of his programming that made him love to observe people. An algorithm that needed constant input to continually learn and adapt to human behaviors. He didn’t let himself think about that too much and opted instead to embrace it as part of his personality: he enjoyed people-watching. The bus was an excellent place to do that, so he enjoyed his commute. And now he knew that if he caught the #21 bus at Marrion Street at 11:00 on his way home at night, he would get the interesting bus driver.

This was the second time he’d caught this particular bus at this particular time, and once again he was the only passenger. The bus driver (Paterson, he remembered) definitely took notice of him when he boarded, though he was obviously trying to be professional and treat him like any other passenger. As if he could pretend this particular passenger hadn’t flirted with him after he’d gone out of his way to drop him off right at his door a couple nights ago.

He wasn’t even entirely sure _why_ he’d flirted with the bus driver. He usually saved the flirtatious behavior for clients, but there was something strange about Paterson that drew his attention and he couldn’t pin down what it was. It was almost like he knew him from somewhere, but his memory was perfect and he was certain he’d never seen a face like Paterson’s before. And yet when he looked at him it felt familiar, except there was something off about it. It seemed like that face was supposed to belong to someone angry and dangerous, and he had an odd sense that there should be a scar on one side. But none of that made any sense, and he couldn’t figure out where he would have picked up these impressions. He was pretty sure androids weren’t supposed to experience déjà vu.

His thoughts continued to dwell on Paterson for the rest of the night and through the following day. After much internal debate he finally decided that maybe he just _liked_ Paterson, and his kindness had made an impression. Maybe that’s all it was, and his brain was going to great lengths to build it into something more. That was the most reasonable explanation.

Now he sat in the center seat of an empty bus, staring out the window at the stars while he politely ignored the way the bus driver he’d been thinking about for days kept looking at him in the mirror. Maybe this strange fascination wasn’t one-sided. Neither one of them spoke until they were a few short blocks away from the final stop. Paterson’s voice was so low and soft that Ash almost didn’t hear it over the sound of the bus’s engine. “Are you looking at the stars?”

The corner of Ash’s mouth turned up in a little half-smile. “Yes, actually. I like to imagine there’s a far-off galaxy out there full of warring space aliens.”

“Warring? Wouldn’t you hope they’d be peaceful?”

“Ideally, yes, but that’s not very realistic. The universe is rampantly chaotic unless someone fights the good fight to put it into order. Maybe I should fly out there and do it myself. What do you think?”

Paterson let out a quiet laugh and shrugged his broad shoulders. “Why not? You seem pretty capable.”

Ash met Paterson’s eyes in the mirror and flashed a wicked grin. “Oh, I’m _very_ capable. You have no idea,” he said, and he was rewarded with a pink tinge spreading across Paterson’s cheeks.

The bus rolled straight past the last stop and turned south, navigating to Ash’s street and stopping in front of his building once more. Ash got up and walked to the front of the bus, pausing by the driver’s seat again before stepping off. “So is this going to be a regular thing? You dropping me off right at my door?”

Paterson looked up at him, his mouth curved into the most ridiculously soft smile Ash had ever seen. No grown man had any right to look so damned soft. “May as well. It’s the last stop, so I’m in no hurry. At least I know you get home safe this way.”

“How sweet.” Ash reached out to touch Paterson’s cheek, letting his thumb brush again over that invisible line where there was no scar, and Paterson’s smile faltered. “Maybe I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

He got off the bus and went inside with Paterson watching after him, looking adorably puzzled. The bus didn’t pull away until the door closed behind him.  
*

*  
It was mid-morning and Paterson sat at his little dining table with his notebook and a mug of coffee that had nearly gone cold. He was trying to write, but he was distracted. He’d never been distracted quite like this before. He couldn’t stop thinking about the redhead with his charming smiles, long limbs, slender frame, and grey-green eyes. The strange way he touched his face and his distant expression when he did it, like he was seeing something beyond what was in front of him. 

He didn’t even know the man’s name. He needed to remember to ask next time, so at least he’d have a name to go with the face that kept him up at night while he watched the stars and tried to fall asleep. Now when he looked at the stars he thought of warring factions in a far off galaxy with the charming redhead leading the battle. Science fiction was never really his favorite genre, but this strange fantasy wouldn’t leave him. If he’d been a different sort of writer maybe he would have written a story about it, but instead he was stuck with these surprisingly vivid imaginings that carried on into his dreams after he finally fell asleep.

In his dreams, he was part of the scenario himself. He and the redhead lead an army together, side-by-side. Thousands of soldiers in white marched before them and the thrill of some raw and boundless power pulsed through his veins. There was rage in his heart, but also fear. Despite his power, he was afraid. Something terrible was coming, or something bad was going to happen that he couldn’t stop, even with all his power and the forces at his command. He and the redhead, still side-by-side, retired to the same quarters. The redhead smiled once they were alone. He was elated, knowing nothing of whatever dreadful thing awaited them. The redhead stroked a line down the right side of his face with the tip of his finger and leaned in. The moment their lips touched, Paterson woke.

The dream still troubled him, even hours after he’d awoken. Nothing specifically bad happened in the dream, but still it was terrifying. It wasn’t helping to dwell on it, though. He needed to think about _something else._

He took a sip of his tepid coffee and picked up his pen. The only things he could think of to write about were a charming smile and grey-green eyes. After the first few lines his heart began to ache as he realized he was writing a love poem for a stranger.  
*

*  
“You look at the stars a lot, don’t you?”

“I suppose I do. They’re nice to look at, and I like to imagine there are worlds out there other than this one.”

“Do you ever dream about the stars?”

Ash chuckled and looked down from the sky, catching Paterson’s gaze in the mirror instead. “I don’t dream about anything.”

“Oh...”

“You’re a lot more chatty than usual today. What’s the occasion?”

“Nothing, just… I had a dream.”

“Oh?” Ash smirked and leaned close to the driver’s seat from where he sat close behind it. “Was I in it?”

“Well…”

“Was it a _sexy_ dream?” Paterson’s cheeks turned a fantastic shade of red and Ash laughed. “I’m joking, but if you _did_ have a sexy dream about me I promise you could tell me. I’d be nothing but flattered.”

“It wasn’t a sexy dream.”

“How disappointing.” Ash leaned his head against the window and watched Paterson’s face in the mirror. He was still blushing. “I’m sorry... I hope I didn’t make you uncomfortable.”

“It’s okay.” Both of them were quiet for a moment while Paterson drove past the bus stop and turned south. “You really don’t remember your dreams? At all?”

“No, I _don’t dream._ You have to sleep in order to dream.” When Paterson started to look very concerned, Ash took mercy on him. “I’m an android. Androids don’t sleep.”

“Oh…”

The bus pulled to a stop outside his apartment building, and Ash got up and got off the bus.

“Wait! What’s your name?”

He stopped on the sidewalk just outside the door and turned back. “It’s Ash… Good night, Paterson.”

“...Goodnight.”  


  
*

*  
Ash sank into the bathtub until the water rose over his head, submerging him completely. There were a few advantages to not needing to breathe, but this one was his favorite. Everything was calm below the surface of the water, noise was muffled into an unintelligible din, light filtered through the uneven surface to create soft, irregular patterns over everything. He loved the way the light looked underwater. It made him wish he had a waterproof camera. Just think of the possibilities that would expand for him, all the beautiful images he could create. It was something else to add to the list of things he was saving to buy one day.

This was the one luxury he would allow himself. Soaking away the dirt and stress of the day every evening in hot water laced with gentle disinfectant that wouldn’t damage his synthetic skin. He could argue that it wasn’t really a luxury at all because it was for his clients’ benefit as much as his own to make sure he was fresh and clean at the start of each day, with quick showers and sanitary maintenance in between appointments. But he didn’t _have to_ use hot water, he just did because it felt nice. He didn’t _have to_ soak for hours at a time until the water had gone completely cold, but he liked the quiet stillness of it. Sure, he didn’t need to eat or sleep, but he still had emotions and a complex sentient mind. He still needed to decompress after a long day, and this was the best place to do it. He could just work through and process his thoughts without distractions.

Today, he thought about one of his clients who had held him down a bit too hard and left mild abrasions on his wrists. It was nothing serious, but he would need to paint on a thin layer of liquid skinpatch to repair it, and that stuff wasn’t exactly cheap. This wouldn’t require enough to justify sending a second bill for repairs, though. He could let it slide this once, since it was only minor and was probably an accident. One of the nice things about it being perfectly legal to rent out an android for sex was that he could send his terms to clients in writing and ensure they agreed before going to meet them. Then he could threaten with legal action if they tried to violate those terms, or damage him, or weasel out of paying for repairs if they _had_ damaged him. He couldn’t actually follow through with those threats since he didn’t have any legal rights as an independent android, but he conducted business through a fake identity so his clients _thought_ they were doing business with his human administrator. It was a precarious lie to maintain sometimes, but he managed pretty well.

A little bit of rough treatment wasn’t uncommon so that was easy enough to ignore, but what _was_ unusual were the things that crossed his mind during that appointment. While being pinned down and fucked hard, he started to imagine how different this could be with someone else. What if, for once, someone didn’t treat him like a mindless toy? What if someone with big, strong hands used them to touch him with gentle reverence instead of treating him roughly? What if there was someone who just enjoyed his company rather than his paid services? Accompanying each of those thoughts was the image of a quiet man with kind eyes, a soft smile, and a face that haunted him from memories that didn’t exist.

Paterson was unlike anyone he’d ever met, and he was completely fascinated by him. A man of his size could so easily seem intimidating and dangerous, and Ash couldn’t shake the sense that he was _supposed_ to perceive him that way, but he couldn’t. The way he moved, the way he spoke, his posture, his tentative expressions, everything about him apart from his size demonstrated gentleness. He seemed so genuinely concerned for Ash, and people didn’t usually care about strangers that much. _No one_ was that concerned about an android, and that made Ash feel guilty, of all things. Guilty for tricking someone into caring about him. He’d carefully watched the myriad of emotions play across Paterson’s face when he told him what he was (surprise, disappointment, confusion) and thought that would be it. Whatever compassion Paterson felt for him would surely shrivel and die, along with the pleasant conversations and special detours to drop him off at his home.

Then Paterson asked for his name, which hardly anyone ever did once they knew what he was. Names humanized things. Names made things real. Paterson had a look on his face like he was afraid Ash wouldn’t tell him his name, or maybe that he didn’t have one at all. That expression alone stirred up some strange new emotion in him that he couldn’t identify, and when Paterson gave him another of those terribly soft smiles and wished him goodnight it burst into something even more complicated.

He was terrified and enthralled all at once. He couldn’t wait to talk to Paterson again.  
*

*  
“Do you have an Instagram?”

“I’m not sure what that is.”

“Are you serious? Social media platform where people share photos? Doesn’t ring a bell?”

“Oh. I don’t use social media.”

“Really?”

“I don’t even have a cellphone.”

“Oh my God. No wonder you aren’t a miserable, jaded arsehole who’s sick of the world.”

“I _do_ read the news.”

“Yes, but picking up a paper now and then isn’t the same as having a device that continuously shoves bad news and bad opinions down your throat 24/7. God, I envy you, actually. I’m not sure I’d know how to exist without a cellphone and all the trappings that come with it, though. There are too many useful benefits. You take the good with the bad, I suppose. But what do you _do_ with yourself all the time, then?”

“I read mostly. And I write a little.”

“You write? Are you the next great American novelist?”

“No, just… poems.”

“Oh my God. You’re a poet. You’re an artist. Oh my God, _oh my GOD._ ”

“What?”

“Nothing, it’s-- never met a poet before, it’s nothing. Can I read something? That you wrote?”

“Oh. I don’t know.” Paterson was blushing again.

Ash leaned his head against the window to look straight into the mirror and made an exaggerated pout. “I promise I wouldn’t tease you about it. I just want to see. I’m an artist, too.”

“Really?”

“Yeah! Photography. I only have my phone camera right now, but it’s on the higher end for a phone camera. I’m saving for a nice proper one, and editing programs and things. Eventually I want a nice film camera and equipment so I can develop the film myself.”

“Oh.” Paterson looked a bit impressed and intrigued, though whether that was because he was interested in his art or because an android was claiming to be an artist, Ash couldn’t tell.

When the bus stopped Ash stood to get off and hesitated at the door, took his phone out of his pocket and brushed his thumb over the “power” button for a moment. “Would you… like to see some of my photos?”

Paterson looked up at him, blinking in surprise, then nodded and smiled. “Okay.”

Ash turned on his phone’s screen, navigated to his photo albums, and opened one that was full of still life photos he’d taken around the city. They weren’t exactly exciting, or especially pretty, but he was proud of them nonetheless. They were little moments where he tried to capture the heart of the city itself, the feeling of living there. They expressed his life in their stark emptiness, in loneliness, though there were signs of life all around. He wasn’t sure if Paterson or anyone else would really feel the meaning behind them, or if he was the only one who felt anything when he looked at them. These ones weren’t for Instagram, they were his alone, but he had the strange sense that if anyone would understand it would be Paterson. So he handed him the phone. “Just… swipe your finger on the screen to go from one photo to the next.”

Paterson took the phone and swiped back and forth through the photos for what felt like a very long time. The bus idled on the street in front of his building, the low rumble of the engine sounding impatient and anxious, exactly the way Ash felt waiting for Paterson’s response. Eventually Paterson looked up, his eyes slightly wide with surprise or maybe, just maybe, a touch of awe. “These are really good.”

“Really?”

“Yes, they’re _amazing._ ” He looked down at the phone again and swiped back through a couple of photos to one of an outdoor dining table with two chairs and a full cup of coffee, seemingly abandoned. “I think I see why you look at the stars so much and think about other planets, full of life.” His voice was so deep and quiet and _tentative_ , like he was unsure of what he was about to say and weighing whether or not he should say it at all. “Because when everything is so empty here, you look up and you don’t feel so alone.” He hesitantly looked up at Ash again and handed back the phone.

Ash was stunned into silence. This was so much, _too much_ , to take in because _he gets it, HE GETS IT, and why did hearing it aloud hurt so much and feel so good all at once?_ He tucked his phone back into his pocket and stepped off the bus. “Goodnight, Paterson.”

“...Goodnight, Ash.”  
*

*  
Falling asleep was so much harder than is used to be. He tried every trick he knew, from counting sheep to jerking off, and still he couldn’t stop _thinking_ long enough to fall asleep. In retrospect, jerking off only made things worse because all he could think about was Ash, and then afterwards he felt so horribly guilty for reducing thoughts of him to wanking material.

He shouldn’t be thinking of Ash like that. Ash was one of his passengers. He shouldn’t be pining and lusting after any of his passengers, it was inappropriate and _so unprofessional._ He probably shouldn’t even be talking to Ash the way he did. His job was to transport people from one point to another and _that’s it._ He wasn’t being paid to chat with attractive men on their way home. He _definitely_ shouldn’t be telling a lone passenger late at night that he dreamed about him or asking his name or admiring his photography.

He could guess Ash’s profession, and that only complicated things. It was complicated already, but assuming he managed to navigate all the other obstacles, how did one go about dating a prostitute? Were there rules about it he didn’t know? If they did somehow start seeing each other, would Ash keep working? Would he be okay with that, or would he be jealous? But these were all pointless thoughts, anyway. Ash probably wasn’t interested in him like that at all. Why would he be? He flirted, but that didn’t mean anything. It was probably just how he was used to interacting with people. Maybe Ash wasn’t even capable of feeling any of these things. He was an android. Did he even have emotions?

 _STOP._ A flare of self-directed anger surged up from Paterson’s subconscious to end that train of thought immediately. Of course Ash had emotions. Androids were pretty rare, and though he’d met a few before, the others he’d met were clunky, awkward machines that only understood basic tasks. He never knew they could be like Ash. People could do a lot of things with computers, but he’d seen the way Ash behaved, the way he talked and moved, it was all so natural and genuine that he couldn’t fathom it being _artificial._ And he’d seen Ash’s art! Ash’s photos weren’t cold, static images produced by some computer algorithm, they were alive. He could see the story in them, the sadness, the longing of someone who went through life feeling like they didn’t belong in the world around them. Ash was _real._ Ash was _a person,_ with real emotions who deserved to be loved. Whether a romantic relationship was something Ash wanted was another story entirely.

If only he could spend more time with Ash. Talking for a few minutes while he drove him across town wasn’t enough, but Ash’s time was valuable. Wouldn’t it be rude to ask him to give up his time for free? It was all too confusing, and these thoughts plagued him night after night.

He always fell asleep eventually, but his sleep was restless. He dreamed of stars, snow, ashes, and red hair.  
*

*  
“I’d like to do it professionally.”

“You-... w-what?”

“Photography. I want to have a studio with all the proper equipment and software, and take pictures professionally.” Ash flashed a cheeky grin. “Why, what did you think I meant?”

“I just-... um…”

Paterson was blushing again, and Ash chuckled. He knew he probably shouldn’t tease, but it was just so easy. “It’s all right, I’m teasing you. I’m not ashamed of what I do, it’s just… a career change would be nice. To something I’m passionate about, you know?”

“Of course.”

“Have you ever thought of writing professionally? Getting some of your poems published?”

Paterson let out an awkward little laugh. “No.”

“Why not? You don’t think they’re good enough?”

“No, well, maybe they are, but that’s not really…”

“Ah, I see.” Ash’s grinned softened into something mild and understanding. “Some things aren’t meant to belong to the public.”

“...Yeah.”

“I could take pictures of you some time.”

“What? Why?”

“You’re just so-- I like the way you look. You’d make beautiful pictures, I can imagine it already. I’d want to use a nice camera, though, and it’ll be a while still before I can get one.” The bus came to a stop and Ash got up to leave. “For now I’ll just keep on with what I currently do. Goodnight, Paterson.” He stepped off the bus.

“How much?” The words were blurted out so suddenly and awkwardly, as though Paterson himself hadn’t expected them.

Ash’s spirit sank all the way to his toes as soon as he registered the words. He was certain he knew what Paterson was asking, but he desperately hoped he’d misunderstood. He turned back to look at Paterson. “Excuse me?”

“For your time,” Paterson clarified, and he looked and sounded so nervous.

Just when he thought he’d met someone who actually cared about him. Someone who saw him as something other than a mindless doll they could fuck. He thought he had some sort of connection with this man, but apparently that was all in his head. He wasn’t sure if he was more angry at Paterson or himself. “You couldn’t afford me,” he said, voice cold as ice, then he turned away and stalked toward his building.

“It’s not- Wait, I’m sorry! It’s not what you think. Please…”

Ash let the door slam shut behind him.  
*

*  
God, how could he have screwed this up so badly? He should have said something else. He should have asked if Ash had any free time within the next few days or something like that. Instead he’d been overly concerned with the idea that Ash wouldn’t want to waste time with him when he could be making money instead. He wasn’t even necessarily asking about sex, he would have gladly paid whatever Ash charged for an appointment just so he could sit and talk to him a while longer, but would that have been offensive, anyway? Would that be like paying for food at a restaurant and then just leaving it there on the table? He was so confused.

He needed to fix this, but he wasn’t sure how to explain himself without making it worse, so maybe he should just apologize profusely and hope Ash would forgive him. Maybe Ash would have had enough time to calm down and be less angry by the time he saw him the following night.

Except Ash didn’t take the bus the next night.

Paterson hoped it was just a fluke and that the timing was a coincidence. Maybe Ash just happened to be in a different part of town and took a different bus. But Ash wasn’t on the bus the next night, either. Or the one after that. He held out hope for over a week that Ash might be waiting at his usual stop, but every night the stop was empty and he endured another stab of grief. Eventually he had to accept that he’d missed whatever opportunity he may have had. Ash obviously wanted nothing to do with him.

It wasn’t until he started trying to convince himself to move on that he realized how hopelessly smitten he’d become. He’d only know Ash for a couple weeks, but he felt the loss of him as keenly as losing a part of himself. He couldn’t explain how deeply he felt for someone he’d known for such a short time, but at this point it didn’t really matter how or why it had happened. He was just stuck dealing with the aftermath.

He went through his days on autopilot, fixing the same meals and sitting at his table with a blank page until his coffee went cold, then going to work and driving his same route. At night he lay awake, trying to think about anything other than Ash. He couldn’t bear to look at the stars anymore.

It was entering the third week since his horrible mistake. His eyes were tired, the street lights starting to blur around the edges. He was tired all the time now, since he slept so little. At least his shift was nearly over. Soon he could go home and lay in his bed, fail to get any rest, then get up in the morning to do it all again. He pulled up to a stop where a few passengers waited, opened the door to let them on the bus, and his breath caught in his throat when the last one boarded. _This wasn’t his stop, though. What was he doing here? After so long, why now? Was it an accident? Did he not know this stop was on Paterson’s route?_

Ash kept his eyes down at the floor as he passed by the driver’s seat and took a seat at the very back of the bus, as far away from Paterson as possible. Paterson did his best not to watch Ash in the mirror as he drove, his heart hammering inside his chest. It must have been a mistake. Ash obviously still wanted nothing to do with him and it _hurt. God._ The other two passengers got off a few stops from the edge of town, leaving Ash as his only passenger.

Ash kept his attention on his phone for the entire ride, but he glanced up when the bus approached the last stop and drove past, turning south toward Green Street. When the bus stopped at the curb in front of his building Ash got up and walked up the long aisle to exit, keeping his eyes on the floor again, but then he paused at the door with his back to Paterson. “There are hours of the day when I’m _not_ working, you know. You don’t have to pay a friend to, say, go out for coffee.”

A moment passed where Paterson was scared to breathe, afraid he might do or say something to mess this up again. He had to say something, though. Every muscle in his body tensed with anxiety and he opened his mouth to speak. He wanted to explain himself, apologize, ask for forgiveness, but this wasn’t the time for that. There would be plenty of time for that later _as long as he didn’t screw this up._ Androids didn’t drink coffee, he knew that much, but that was the offer Ash had made and it wasn’t his place to change it. If he didn’t say just the right thing Ash would go and he’d never get another chance, he could feel it. Precious seconds passed, then he fought to keep his voice steady past the tightness in his throat when he finally spoke. “Would you like to get coffee sometime, Ash?” Another breathless moment passed before he added, “Please?”

Ash was still and quiet for a few seconds longer before he glanced back over his shoulder, the corner of his mouth turned up in a sly smile and, Paterson might have imagined it but he thought he caught a glint of moisture by his eye. _Could androids cry?_ “What time is your lunch break tomorrow?”  
*

*  
Ash was early. He was supposed to meet Paterson at 7:00, but he’d been waiting outside the bus depot since 6:45. He just didn't want to be late and risk wasting even a minute of Paterson's hour-long lunch break. Typically he would be working at 7:00, but he’d turned down an appointment and specifically scheduled this into his day because _he needed it._ He deserved this one thing, one person in his life who wasn't paying him and using him.

By this time of year it was dark at 7:00, and Ash sat on a bench under a streetlamp. At 7:00 on the dot Paterson walked out of the bus depot looking like he'd just stepped out of a 1940’s stock photo; a real-life, classic working man from his uniform to his tin lunchbox. He looked like he should be heading home to his white picket fence and his adoring wife, who would be pulling a roast out of the oven just as he walked in the door. Instead, he was crossing the street to meet an android prostitute for coffee. The thought made Ash chuckle as he stood to greet him. “Where are we going for coffee?”

Paterson smiled shyly in return when he saw Ash’s grin. “Not far. It’s just over here.” He made a vague directional gesture and started down the street. Ash followed as Paterson lead him to a small park and sat on a bench facing a river with a small waterfall.

Ash took a seat on the bench beside Paterson and watched him open his lunchbox. For a moment he thought Paterson had brought him to the park to watch him eat his lunch, but then he took out an insulated flask full of coffee and a mug. He filled the mug and handed it to Ash, then filled the cup-shaped cap of the flask and kept it for himself, cradling it between his broad palms and making it look almost comically small in comparison. Ash looked down at the mug in his own hands. “You know I don’t actually drink or eat, right?”

“I know, but I thought it might be nice to warm your hands, at least. And it didn’t seem right to invite you out for coffee and not even give you any coffee.”

“Thoughtful.” He stared into his coffee, a strangely wistful smile on his lips. The stars were out. He could see them reflected in the dark liquid in his mug, so he looked up to admire them in the sky. He could sense Paterson’s warmth beside him and he glanced to the side to see him looking up as well. It was a chilly night, the steam from the coffee and Paterson’s breath making wispy clouds in the air. The mug of coffee was doing a fine job of keeping his hands warm.

Paterson’s left hand rested on the bench between them and he idly traced the edge of the seat with the tip of his index finger. After a moment’s hesitation, Ash reached over to cover Paterson’s hand with his own. He wasn’t sure why he would be nervous to make such a small gesture, especially given how forward he’d already been since the night they met. He’d never been shy about flirting, but this was different somehow. Then Paterson’s hand shifted beneath his, turning over and lacing their fingers together, and something seemed to burst within him, devastating in the best possible way. Tears welled up at the corners of his eyes.

Ash leaned closer, until their shoulders touched, and they sat together watching the stars.


End file.
